


even princes need to be saved sometimes (don't they?)

by Mr_Morningstar



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders Needs a Hug, Gardens & Gardening, Gen, I create my own Imagination lore, Insecure Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Janus and Roman did talk but not enough, Janus is not just Deceit - it's more likely than you think, M/M, Mentioned Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Mentioned Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, Mentioned Logic | Logan Sanders, Mentioned Thomas Sanders - Freeform, Miscommunication, Morality | Patton Sanders is a Good Friend, Mutual Pining, Non-Graphic Violence, Not Actually Unrequited Love, POV Alternating, Post-Episode: Putting Others First - Selfishness v. Selflessness Redux | Sanders Sides, Pre-Relationship, Protective Deceit | Janus Sanders, Roman still calls Janus Deceit, Sympathetic Deceit | Janus Sanders, mentioned Morality | Patton Sanders
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 16:27:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29138538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mr_Morningstar/pseuds/Mr_Morningstar
Summary: “With all due respect – no,” bickering with the Subconscious is of no use, but he is stubborn and intent on sticking to his decisions. Which at the moment is not listening to some know-it-all stick that managed to grow into a tree somehow.“Roman doesn’t want to see me. Anywhere, especially there.Especiallyright now.”Janus and Roman may be smart, but they are dumb, crushing on each other and being completely wack at communicaton.Perhaps a dark stranger and some shared tea will help them to get closer.
Relationships: Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders & Deceit | Janus Sanders, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders/Deceit | Janus Sanders, Deceit | Janus Sanders & Morality | Patton Sanders
Comments: 10
Kudos: 30





	1. lilacs & daffodils

**Author's Note:**

> it is somewhat a pre-written work, but it isn't finished yet, because my brain refuses to give me 'inspiration' without anyone else engaging, so bear with me

There is a certain novelty in gardening – a peace hidden among the freshly opened petals under the young sunlight, enchanting smell of lilacs fading in the southwest wind.

Janus pats the ground thoroughly as if it will start purring slowly – he only needs to do it a little bit lighter, a little bit gentler, more _attentively_.

Flowers are a straightforward bunch when listened to closely and with a proper amount of patience. Much alike his fellow sides – with some it takes a little bit more prickling than with others.

If only he could read the flower language as easily as the language of self-conscious feelings hidden beneath the thicket of lies. Sensing deception and being an embodiment of deceit (which is both factually true and untrue at the same time) does not grant you the magical powers of simply knowing how to deal with whatever that lurks beneath.

Gathering his belongings, Janus sighs – glancing towards the sheer bush of deeply red roses – it’s easier now, but not easy.

He steps forward, changing his gloves with a swift familiar motion, massages the slightly tired wrists, ready to leave – there are, after all, other things that need to be done. Like checking on Remus and his wreckage of a room before it collapses completely from the infestation of flaming-hot-Cheetos-frogs.

‘You should try one, D! They croak when you eat them and they’re not just flamingly-flavoured! They’re actually on fire!’ Janus stifles a sigh, draped in a tone of endearment. 

The soft, yet determent rustling stops his plans though.

There is an opening now – between his neatly cut living wall and an old broad oak tree. He knows that passage, swears to avoid it every time it appears in his space lately – it’s only polite – he tells himself that.

He isn’t welcome in the Imagination – not now and not exactly ever.

There _is_ a place for him in here, if you want to dig deeper, go into schematics. There is daydreaming and meet-cutes in the streets, when you pull the veil over your eyes just for a minute – to imagine how it would be, dipping your feet a little into this selfish “what ifs” – to be a little bit braver, somehow bolder and free.

To greet that handsome guy standing by the corner, date him, have a grand marriage and adopt a bunch of kids.

But usually – usually Janus slips away, doesn’t interfere as much. Gives the reign to the true ruler of the imagination. Doesn’t say anything about his part in soothing night terrors and sweetening the doomed dying dreams.

The passage burns a hole in his chest – waiting wordlessly – so Janus straightens his back, eyes squinting barely. A quiet biteless threat buried in the dim yellow glow of his left one.

“With all due respect – no,” bickering with the Subconscious is of no use, but he is stubborn and intent on sticking to his decisions. Which at the moment is not listening to some know-it-all stick that managed to grow into a tree somehow. But the oak squeaks dully and bends its branches invitingly, insisting.

Janus would’ve put his hat off for a dramatic effect, but it lies silently in his room still, so he just steps back in defiance:

“Roman doesn’t want to see me. Anywhere, especially there. _Especially_ right now. And in case you haven’t notice – oh, right, how rude of me, trees don’t have eyes – it’s nighttime! He’s probably off wasting his time fighting some fantasy villains. And I _oh so don’t like the competition_.”

There is no such thing as tree-speak as much as Patton wants to believe it, hugging another breech in hopes to receive a nice word back and laughing sheepishly when the miracle doesn’t happen. There is only understanding things from clues, bits and pieces – and a sharp feeling of wrongness to the air that you breath.

“Unless…” he whispers, tasting the worry on his tongue – sore and tingly, “Unless there’s a competition that Roman doesn’t seem to be winning… Oh, that – opinionated, indomitable – that bloody all-over-himself fool.”

The leaves sew themselves back the moment Janus launches into the thin verge of the in-between of Thomas’ mind. He doesn’t really question why he’s the one being called for help in the first place, not now, not yet.

The forest is wide and high – characteristically fairy tale-like – with birds eyeing him cautiously and small nervous animals disappearing into the grass.

He looks rather out of place here – his usual deliberately picked attire changed for a simple black button-up shirt and a pair of suitable trousers. Perhaps not a fit for a skilled gardener, but after all they are rather not corporal as is the garden’s dirt.

But being incorporeal in one sense doesn’t cancel out the possibility of being hurt and experiencing pain in another. Tedious semantics.

He slithers carefully, keeping his pace prompt yet not completely out of breath. Perhaps – most likely – Roman is somewhere close.

Considering the big all-seeing-something seems to root for him finding the prince. ‘Reptiloids, called it’ would’ve said Virgil if they talked to each other more than in hisses.

It takes him more or less ten minutes of irritating wandering to reach quite the convenient clearing – a perfect place for an ambush, a trap or another evil deed. Janus grits his teeth, the sharpness biting into his lip, sobering.

Creativity is sprawled over the ground, breathing harshly, short gasps for air, melted with groans and inaudible mumbling. A nasty dark cut crosses out the lightness of his carmine sash – a crisscrossing stroke over his princely clothing.

In other circumstances Janus might have said something about picking white for such outdoor activities, involving blood that is, but now’s not the time. Now his hands are trembling just slightly – not in fear, but in understanding. ‘Isn’t it always easier to just throw yourself into the things that are familiar? Things you can do and do so-so splendidly. To overwork yourself, wishing to silence the ever-wailing sound of your own mind?’ He knows – he sure knows.

“Oh, your highness. How the mighty have fallen,” he notes, shushing concern under his breath.

There is only one logical conclusion here, the right decision to be made – Logan would be proud, surely – to carry the prince out of the Imagination. The wounds, received here, will fade away the moment they step out of the realm.

The problem is – Janus isn’t as strong as Roman or as fast as Remus. He can’t – he wouldn’t be able to pick up something both so fragile and heavy. But – but he’s cunning, good at prioritizing and “life or death” situation problem-solving. He can’t carry Roman all the way back by himself. Or can he?

Just for tonight – a little bit sturdier, a tad more reckless with a pinch of wishful thinking. Just for now he can be enough – for this, for here – for Roman. Little white lies, when used accordingly, can give someone, oh, so much power.

Janus breathes in and slowly, almost tenderly embraces the prince, pulling him closer – slips his arms under, pair after pair, enveloping. He could be enough for a while even if it’s awfully tiring.

All the way back Roman doesn’t wake up, only whispers some “show them”, “halt, you, creature” and a series of “don’t you dare” ending in pained sighs. Obviously tired not only physically, but mentally. Still. Janus glances at the nearing oak – he probably should talk with Patton about it. Again.

The air in the garden is crispier, like a freshly cleaned sheets bathed in the washing powder with a neatly typed “lemon and mint”.

It’s more viscous in the Imagination, enshrouding you deeper into the building up fantasy, lulling further to the nowhere’s edge.

The stillness of the flowerbed brings Janus some calmness, a portion of familiarity and confidence in his own – reassures him in a way that the rapid breathing of Roman can’t. ‘At least, he is breathing.’

It’s not safe to bring the prince to Janus’ room – who knows what effects it might have on the exhausted side. The blood is still present on his suit, but it’s worn now – and there is no wound as far as he can see. So it wasn’t, it wasn’t for nothing.

He probably should put Roman somewhere to rest – maybe call others to assist him, but it’s almost… an ungodly hour.

Waking Patton up would be, well, ill-mannered. Virgil is up probably, but it’ll only bring him more worry – and he’s not sure if their status quo saves him from any accusations of slashing the prince in the moment of weakness or _whatever_. Logan would say that Roman needs rest and Remus – oh, dear – he just hopes (‘More like hops’ – ha) that the frogs didn’t start some kind of a new French revolution in his absence.

“Let’s just,” he lowers Roman down warily, puts him gently beside the golden daffodils, “We’ll just let you rest here. No worries, really. The grass is quite soft. And when you wake up… Well, until then I will have an excuse or two for this situation,” murmurs Janus more to himself than anyone, but still something within him strives to sooth the distressed line between Creativity’s eyebrows.

It leaves a bitter taste on a tip of his tongue – awfully close to caring. There was a pillow, maybe – just forgotten somewhere among his gardening tools and leftover philosophy books.

He has no other option but to wait until the prince awakens.

Well – _considering Roman is a prince_ – there is another option. Janus stops his eyes on the sleepily parted lips and stands up abruptly. What nonsense. And the one that totally lacks consent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kudos and comments make my crops flourish,,, english isn't my first language and i don't have a beta, so feel free to correct me  
> chat with me on twitter (@starindisaster) or tumblr (https://nikirari.tumblr.com/)


	2. tansy & pine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trees circle him, devouring, and Roman’s grip on the sword tightens. There is no usual lightness to the air in the forest, it drapes instead over his shoulders like a heavy woolen cloth – dark magic indeed.

Roman paints the skies vibrant blue – vast and rampant – adjusting its yolk to shine a little too bright, too glimmering for it to be natural, cooks it steadily to the perfect balance of runny and fried.

Thomas is too tired to dream now, so he strolls down the corridors to slip into the Imagination on his own. Acts like a thief to his own element, avoids open contact and pretends – pretends – pretends.

‘Sure, padre, I’m feeling way better, getting some work done really hypes me up, y’know? Oh, wow, look at the time – gotta run!’ He hasn’t had a decent idea for days now – paper ball after paper ball mashed into the garbage bin.

He twirls mindlessly as the cloud on the left gets puffier and gains another shade of cream-like white – it almost resembles a boat if you stare at it hard enough. Just like words lose their meaning the more you repeat them other objects blossom into something new with the power of imagination. He is Creativity after all – so a boat it is.

It would’ve been so much easier though if he could just do the same with himself – a snap of fingers and ta-dah! – again the hero, again the loved by all prince. But lately his title feels more like a mask and his own thoughts more like a blade hidden in between the ribs.

Cutting deeper and deeper – each day progressively harder to pass by without lurking in the shadows of his former self.

Thomas is supposed to be good, not evil, but he’s not. Is he? And what does that say about him – what does it make him, being a part that navigates Thomas’ dreams and desires.

Roman feels out of place and foreign. That slippery snake sure must be happy about it. That’s what he always had wanted after all. To sow discord into their hearts, into their minds.

The thought of Deceit planning it all shields Roman thinly from thinking about his own faults and failures – the cloud line in the sky looks more like a crack.

He waves it away and marches forward. If _they_ don’t need his help – well, fine! – there’s always more than enough people to be saved in the Kingdom. It doesn’t really matter – Roman does not count himself in for the “worth saving” list either.

The town is lively as usual when he pays it a visit, the citizens smiling and greeting him. The children flocking around, pleading for another tale of heroism and justice, for a spare minute to show him their well-practiced moves.

Roman listens and laughs – a hollow note in the end of a promise – he has plans, duties even he must attend to.

If trouble doesn't ask for him, Roman will ask for the trouble himself.

“Say, dear lads, has anything been bothering your people lately?”

A young ginger boy – Theo – raises his hand fast, eager to answer:

“They say there’s dark magic flooding the forest! We can’t play there anymore!”

Shayla – his sister – tugs Theo closer, auburn curls shaking and storm-like eyes piercing deeply, adding in a quieter voice:

“They say a stranger has come to our lands. They say he’s an impostor and a charlatan. You shouldn't believe him, he’s rather… convincing, my prince.”

It sounds all too familiar to Roman, has a tauntingly yellow glint blinding his judgment, and a frown forms on his face, though a dashing façade covers it swiftly.

“Well, you may reassure your elders, there’ll be no more trouble in the forest. I give you my word!”

He takes off almost immediately after, the cheers echoing in his ears, muffled by the honey-sweet tone, laughing and bright – ‘ _Oh, I'm sorry, I couldn't help myself. Oh, you know I love you._ ’

The trip to the forest doesn’t take long – he knows the lands well, has created them after all – but Roman keeps his steps soft just in case and tries to make his mind quieter. It buzzes lazily, doesn’t surrender, as if a swarm of bees has decided to make it their home.

His thoughts circle. Saccharine, distracting – wrong. Roman shakes his head lightly, he needs to gather himself. Deceit can’t really do much in the Imagination – even if he somehow got in.

The trees circle him, devouring, and Roman’s grip on the sword tightens. There is no usual lightness to the air in the forest, it drapes instead over his shoulders like a heavy woolen cloth – dark magic indeed.

He can almost taste it, thick and suffocating. A work of a skilled, yet vicious magician no less. Not that he’s here to admire the rotten work. He won’t let some hideous liar ruin his world.

When the woodland starts to clear, to narrow down, leading him to the obviously fresh track, then he hears it – an enchantment, cold whispering weaved with the muttering of ancient words.

The figure is hidden behind the dark cloak, disforming its traits. He can’t really tell whether it’s someone he knows or just another figment of the storytelling set loose.

He needs to get closer – take the position and wait for the right moment. Or maybe, just maybe… he should rush into battle before the enemy sees him.

Roman knows – he must be smart about it – but the recklessness burns his insides like holy fire.

A solitary crow watches him soundlessly, a blink-and-you-miss-it worried look in its eyes. The prince doesn’t notice when the wind gets somehow colder and his watcher takes off. The grass looks duller under the mage’s feet and the flowers bend their heads tired, drained and lifeless.

Every bit of colour seems to be slipping away – taken, reclaimed by the frightening evil.

It is revolting and Roman bites down a growl. He can’t stand the look of someone just killing his Kingdom like that – what if, what if the nature isn’t the only thing he can drain.

What if the forest is a test to his skills, starting point to a bigger disaster?

Roman takes another step – ready – not a single stick breaks under his feet as he observes the villain sharply.

“Oh, what a pleasant surprise! Isn’t it prince Roman himself? Coming to visit the humble old me, hmm? Heard about my magic, perhaps. Or something more… interesting.”

The voice of the mage startles him, Roman can’t quite place it – it sounds familiar, but clouded. The tone and the pacing seem off, for some reason. The soft lilt at the end of the words strange. Not like – not like Deceit or…

“Halt, you, creature! Not a single movement will be made by you yet again! As here come I, Roman, the prince of!..”

“Sure-sure, yeah. Save the theatrics for someone else, lord not-mine. How come your visit took so long to actually happen? I’ve been biding my time here, just… Starving for some actual challenge. Finally.”

There’s a hunger streaming from his words, the one that gets under your skin and picks the muscles apart, smashing its teeth into the bone. Roman can’t help but to shiver, to finally enter the stage of the forest’s clearing.

His eyes pierce the dark shadow hiding under the hood, trying to figure it out, to place that anxious feeling not leaving his nerves, anger boiling hotter and hotter:

“Show yourself, liar! Show yourself and enter a fair duel, then I might spare you!”

The magician laughs – deep sounds followed by shrieking – and shrugs, tilting his head. There’s only as much as another layer of darkness that Roman can see. A glimpse of deep red in the garments.

“Oh, _spare me_ … Sure, sounds rich, coming from you. Well, if a duel you want, hero, then a duel it be!”

“Don’t you!..”

The thunder fills his ears fully, ringing and sudden. There is no lightning or rain, but it almost feels like there is no light at all. The ice-cold gloom binding his movements. His enemy’s fast and calculated – Roman can’t even make another step, before a rough force crashes him into a tree.

“So… the mighty, the fearless and strong prince Roman doesn’t really seem to be any of these… What a pity indeed.”

There’s blood in his mouth – metallic taste almost too real – Roman can taste it, can spit it out in annoyance. Can feel his own panic and lack of understanding sunken in it, left hanging in the air.

The figure comes closer, there’s a black dagger coated in the lacking earlier lighting in his hand. No – no, that can’t be Deceit, no, Ja... He wouldn’t do it… like that. Remus? Could that be Remus? He doesn’t – he can’t understand – how can he be so, so powerful. So in control of…

“Who… who are you?” he breaths, voice hoarse and his vision blurring. The magician takes off the hood slowly – his smile almost blinding – Roman’s blood runs cold. It’s the same. Face, hair, clothes, but darker… It’s his. Though the eyes. The eyes. His eyes are… ‘They say he’s an impostor and a charlatan. You shouldn't believe him.’

“Duh. _I’m_ the villain of this story, don’t you think so yourself?”

The sky bleeds red like it’s sunset.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ('bad guy' by billie eilish intensifies)
> 
> next chapter will probably take some more time cause i need to proofread it and i am a working human being,,,  
> but we're going back to janus' train of thought


	3. coriander & rue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apologizing – he says one day, pouring mint tea to Patton – must not only be done by one side alone. It’s a work in progress. A joint effort. He can’t let it all go to waste. No matter how hard it may get – depending on his opponent.

Janus flips through the book restlessly. He’s already read it two times in a row now, which is honestly quite impressive, considering he keeps getting distracted by the princely presence, worried glances costing him a word or two or a whole sentence at once.

The printed text tries to keep him grounded – more focused. Half trough the routine he moves a chair closer to Roman, the one usually accompanying a small table for the occasional tea drinking.

It’s nice – nicer than Janus is ready to admit to himself – having little tea parties out in the open air like that. If the garden can be even considered… such. Well, at least Patton seems to think so – he tries to value his little positive remarks more these days.

Janus sighs, his eyes fixed on the improvised hanging out spot – there are still leftover lemon cookies tucked safely into the picnic basket.

‘Don’t you worry, kiddo, I’ve got plenty and it just so helps the atmosphere in here! Ah – I already feel myself _blossom_! You should probably put a garden swing here or something – ooh, with branches and little yellow flowers! We can paint it black even, to keep the brand alive!’

The small smile spreading on Janus’ face falters as he looks at the prince again. Roman looks better now, more rested, some of the tiredness washing away. The dark circles under his eyes are still deep though and pointedly present. Worrying.

How long has it been since he’s gotten a proper amount of sleep? Janus wonders, pausing his reading – rereading – and taking a place next to his guest on the lavish grass. It’s soft. Roman’s hair is soft too as he brushes off a few loose strands of it.

Maybe he should’ve talked with Roman more openly – more directly.

He knows, it’s hard to admit, but Creativity has been going in circles lately. Building a grand maze of lies and insecurities of his own and getting lost in there with each empty seat during famILY’s usually shared meals.

Working – he must be working – Janus reassures himself and others, not staying for the actual food yet. He can’t – not really – otherwise Virgil’s place would probably stay vacant even longer.

It’s _passable_ that he at least lures Logan away from the dreadful feeling of being left out – spending more time in the library than in his own room these days. Baby steps and all that.

It is rather tiring, of course, but Janus fought tooth and nail for the crumbs of acceptance – his methods surely unethical at times, but then again, he at least recognizes the errors. Ironically – doesn’t lie to himself.

Apologizing – he says one day, pouring mint tea to Patton – must not only be done by one side alone. It’s a work in progress. A joint effort. He can’t let it all go to waste. No matter how hard it may get – depending on his opponent.

He has… history with Virgil, which he’s not fully proud of. But before resolving _that,_ Virgil must make peace with himself and Janus won’t interfere. Well, maybe just a little. Not really.

It’s not like it’s easy with Patton either, was or is – two sides of the same coin – every so often he seems almost as lost as Janus. With all these blacks and whites overlapping each other. Ah, the change of perspectives… always so lovely. Always so disorientating.

Roman though… Roman is actively digging his own grave now it seems. And Janus can’t really tell for how long he’s been observing and testing out the best soil for it.

It’s not really his work to spy on the sides 24/7. He actually does have other duties; he keeps reminding himself. The ones he’s been actively delaying right now, standing guard by the local not-damsel in distress… just stress?

Good thing is Janus knows his own working schedule quite well – he’ll balance out the longer-than-it-should-be break later. Find the equilibrium or recategorize the time spent with the prince as something at least akin to work. It is work? Even a little?

If you think about it like that – Roman is an essential part of Thomas. And Janus is responsible for… reminding Thomas to take care of himself too. Which Roman doesn’t seem to be doing oh so greatly. Right.

He really does spend more time with Logan now, the side effectively empathizing his own rationalization tactics – Janus laughs a little – it seems so, at least. Not that this is unwelcome. Not at all.

The prince is still sleeping, his breathing deep, soothing. Janus taps absentmindedly on the book’s cover as tiredness creeps on him slowly as well – stealthy thief waiting for the right moment to strike.

“Fine,” he huffs under his breath, taking a more comfortable position. Stealing a last glimpse of Roman’s face before closing his eyes, Janus lets himself drift off. It’s warm here, lulling – he leans closer, shifting – Patton would coo if he saw them like that.

══════════════════

Consciousness comes back to Roman in waves – one after one – hits him lazily until he’s lying motionless, hazy, but awake. His eyelids tremble stubbornly as if sealed tightly with wax. He grumbles and the uneasiness in his muscles kicks back. Simple movement strikes him like a tough blow to the gut.

“For the love of…” he trails off, staring at the sky. It looks familiar – different from the Imagination, but not quite… “Shit!” memories flood his mind swiftly, drowning and setting the pain in his chest ablaze. The magician! The! He…

Roman grabs his sash almost in panic, glancing down – his vision blurry. The edges of his clothes now jagged and yet, yet there’s no…

“Hey, you. You’re finally awake.”

He blinks, eyes refocusing, and whips his head in the direction of the well-known voice. It’s fast – unnecessary so – his vision blurring for a split second again, not darkening, but sowing stardust all over the picture.

“Deceit!” Roman cries out – the sound of it almost scandalized. The other side just quirks a brow. How is he even here? And where’s is here exactly… Wait. What did he say?

“You didn’t just…” Roman trails off as the realization downs on him. Deceit’s brow just moves higher, unaffected – ah, shoot, “It doesn’t matter! Leave me be, snake! Don’t! Don’t come any closer!”

He can feel the worry building up in him – uneasiness and confusion spreading on his face in various shades.

“I am going to stay perfectly still over there, thank you for your concern. And, mind you” Deceit’s voice is careful, a hand gesturing slowly, “We literally are just lying next to each other in quite a close proximity, Roman. I physically can’t come any closer without making you even more… stressed.”

“And why is… why is that happening exactly?”

That makes Deceit hum. Roman does everything to avert his eyes – really now the snake is probably the last person he’d have liked to encounter. And yet here _he_ is – the emotion on his face strangely searching and his hair slightly, just the right amount of disheveled. Hair, huh… 

“Where’s your hat?” Roman blurts out out of the blue.

Deceit breathes out almost a laugh, a soft surprisingly pleasant sound – it really doesn’t make any sense. Neither his location nor the way something so small can make someone so dangerous look softer. Maybe – just maybe – he hadn’t come to his senses after all and all of this is some sort of a fever dream because of the blood loss. That would be nice… Wouldn’t it? _Nice_ , huh.

“I don’t know, maybe you took it,” he drawls, eyes squinting gently, and the accusation momentarily makes Roman want to oppose him, to defend himself. Build up the walls of the castle he left himself to reside in – to separate and cut off from the others.

“I would never! It was one time!” he stammers and Deceit – Deceit sighs. Only after that a foolish – hoped-for – possibility occurs to Roman. It was, he was, the snake was probably _teasing_.

“It’s in my room, do not stress it,” he sits up carefully, rolling his eyes, “Seriously, Roman, just… relax for a second? You’re way too high-strung and been, ah, hurt. So, do not, I emphasize, do not make any sudden movements, otherwise I’m afraid…”

Roman tries to move anyway – not like he’s going to listen to Deceit’s advice, huh, even if he’s being weirdly nice about the whole thing – it does cost him _some_ discomfort though. Like being thrown under a truck. With a dozen of giraffes in it. And they also blasted that Tokyo Drift music while hitting him.

Sitting up straight, he finally takes in the surrounding – it’s… very green actually. The yellow flowers right by his side shake lightly under the wind, their heads nodding as if in greetings. He nods in return – without thinking.

Deceit dusts himself off and beside him Roman can see the vast space – all filled with flowers of different types. He can’t even name them all, but suddenly the sweet smell in the air becomes more noticeable, _grounding_. The aroma swirls around him, almost-hugging and Roman’s breath shudders – he’s been there before.

“I’ve been here before,” he whispers, absorbing the scenery and missing a quick puzzled frown on Deceit’s face. The other side purses his lips, musing:

“Maybe,” the rustling of leaves mimics the sound of a laugh, “Now… let’s get you up. And make you some tea. Don’t look at me like that – I will explain everything if you just stop interrupting me, of course. Now, may I?” 

Roman takes Deceit’s hand hesitantly – too caught up in a feeling of a fleeting memory, a thin touch of deja vu, to react properly and worry about any ulterior motives right now. The sight of red roses in a distance makes something in his chest ache.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yay an update (•̀ω•́ )   
> please feed me some comments cause i've developed more plotpoints than originally planned


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